Together
by Flying Porkchop
Summary: [A collection of TodoMomo one-shots. The stories aren't related to each other; ratings vary. Cover art by suitcasesoffeathers.]
1. Together

They were alone in the room, now. Momo leaned back against the hospital-issue pillows, the sweat finally dry on her brow. Her husband sat next to her in a plastic chair, almost looking more relieved than she was that it was over. Kyoka and their other friends had left so that the new parents could have a moment.

The baby slept peacefully in Momo's arms, swaddled in pale blue blankets and wearing a little matching hat. Like his father, his wispy hair was split down the middle— the left side red, and the right black.

Though she was physically exhausted, the excitement of having their first child was enough to energize her mind. Endless calculations, plans of what they would do together, advice she'd read from innumerable parenting books— all of it flashed through her mind with enough speed to make her sweat.  
"Shoto, would you mind opening the window for me?" Momo spoke quietly to avoid disturbing the child. "It's getting a bit hot."

"Sure." Her husband stood up robotically and cracked open the hospital window, allowing a gentle spring breeze to sweep into the room, lightly ruffling some documents on the table and cooling Momo's skin. Though the air carried the distinctive scent of fresh rain, the sky outside was now a brilliant blue, sprinkled with feathery cirrus clouds.

Momo sighed contentedly as Shoto returned to his seat, sitting just a little more stiffly than usual. The baby stirred, managing to open his sticky eyes before they closed again with fatigue. With delight, Momo caught a glimpse of his eye color for the first time— different in each eye. "He has your eyes."

"Yes." Shoto leaned back in his chair, hands folded. Probably, he was trying to give her space, but Momo knew he must have been impatient for his turn.

With a smile, she extended her arms. "Here, you can hold him."

Gingerly, Shoto took the child from her arms, holding him close without looking away. Seeing them together filled Momo with a warm feeling. She fixed her eyes on their child, now, too. It was a new and intimate feeling, to know she and Shoto were looking together at their future as a family.

"Isn't he beautiful?" she said, her voice soft and full of wonder.

Her husband didn't answer.

Momo frowned, looking at him, but he didn't meet her eyes. His body was rigid as he stared at the baby without a smile. "What's wrong, Shoto?"

Another pause.

The thought suddenly came upon her with suffocating weight, a chill tingling down her back. They'd agreed on having a child, hadn't they? It was true that she'd been more enthusiastic about it, but she'd concluded it was simply his reserved nature that prevented him from showing more excitement. Could it possibly be that…?

"You're not...happy?"

"I am," Shoto insisted, his voice tight. His eyes were still focused on their son even though he spoke to her. "Of course I am."

 _Ah._ Momo understood, now. He was on the verge of tears; perhaps he wouldn't meet her eyes out of embarrassment. Half-joking, she inquired, "What is it?"

"...Nothing."

Momo couldn't help but smile a little. "If you're feeling nauseous from witnessing the birth, there's a pressure point—"

"No, it's just…" He wasn't smiling at their old joke as he usually did. Instead, he stared at their child with a strange look in his eye. Her smile faded, the sense of insecurity from before returning, almost as though she'd unknowingly been in the eye of a storm until now.

He spoke in a hoarse whisper. "I'm terrified, Momo."

The words were like ice. "...What?"

Shoto caressed the left side of the baby's face hesitantly, as though the skin could melt away at his touch. The light from the open window hid his own left side in shadow, making his scar seem especially dark. His voice was brittle, on the verge of crumbling.

"What if I can't do this?"

Momo was quiet for a moment, simply observing her husband more carefully. The small hunch of his shoulders, the subtle forward tilt of his head, the slight furrow in his brow...she could see it, now. Doubtless, he was remembering what the word 'father' had meant to him for so many years...and how long he'd struggled to make sure he was different. As much as she wished she could change his past, that was out of her power.

However, there were things she _could_ do. "It's fine if you make mistakes here and there," Momo reasoned, her voice becoming lighter, more confident. "I'm sure you will— we both will."

He hesitated, still looking at their child. "Yes, but…"

"And you trust me, don't you?" She looked at him pointedly, waiting.

Slowly, Shoto met her gaze, eyes as vulnerable as the baby's. "Always."

"Then just remember that we're doing this together." Momo leaned forward and grasped his hand. "Right?"

Finally, he smiled, his face softening as he turned to their sleeping child again. He squeezed her hand back. "Right."

* * *

 _Thanks for reading! Critique is welcome! :D_


	2. Slowly Turning

**_A/N: This was written for celestial-descendant on tumblr for the boku-no-secret-santa Secret Santa Event. :D_**

 ** _Critique is welcome! :D_**

* * *

 _Think of it as a field trip._

Even though it had nothing to do with becoming a hero. Even though they only had two months until graduation and should have been studying for finals. Even though Kyoka was scheming to leave her and Todoroki alone five minutes into this thing.

Momo sighed inwardly. She was overthinking it, most likely. Besides, after three years of being classmates, she was fairly certain Todoroki would never notice her rather embarrassing attraction to him, and she intended to keep it that way. As she'd often rationalized to herself, such things were unprofessional, and she didn't want anything as insignificant as a schoolgirl crush to get in the way of their friendship or their future professional work.

"Okay, I just got a last-minute RSVP from Shoji…" Kyoka checked him off her list with a purple glitter pen. "And...that's everyone! The whole class is coming!" She grinned at Momo.

"Congratulations," Momo said, trying to put a little enthusiasm into her voice despite the fact that they were already on the bus to Magic Mayhem. It smelled of air freshener, and the bus was cool despite the warming weather, but Momo felt hot anyway, sweat beading on the back of her neck.

"Aw, cheer up, Yaomomo!" Kyoka elbowed her playfully before putting her notebook into her drawstring backpack. "I know you're nervous about hanging out with Todoroki, but you guys have been friends for a while, now."

"I suppose you're right," Momo sighed, fiddling with the neatly folded hem of her short shorts. "But do you really have to leave us together…?"

"Trust me." Kyoka had a strange twinkle in her eye and a smirk on her face. Somehow, her expression compromised the comforting content of her words. "You'll thank me later."

Momo nodded, pursing her lips. She supposed Todoroki would probably need a friend, as Midoriya and Iida would doubtless run off with Uraraka somewhere, and she'd noticed that Todoroki had trouble keeping pace with the fun when others got over-enthusiastic...

Once they arrived at the park fifteen minutes later, Kyoka waved at the rest of the class. Apparently, she and Momo were the last ones to arrive, with everyone else already waiting in line for their tickets. Momo barely had time to take in any of the colorful rides jutting into the sky before Kaminari pulled the two girls in front of him, ignoring the rest of the line behind him.

"Kaminari-san, the line—" Momo protested.

"Chill, Yaomomo!" he laughed and slapped her on the shoulder. "We're such a big group; no one will notice!"

Momo shifted her feet in discomfort and adjusted the strap of her over-the-shoulder satchel, her stomach fluttering. That didn't seem right…Then again, she had to admit to herself that perhaps some of her reluctance was out of nervousness about spending time alone with Todoroki outside of their studies.

 _It's fine,_ she repeated to herself a few times. Still, the fluttering in her stomach didn't dissipate.

After a thankfully short wait, they were inside the park. Sure enough, Midoriya, Uraraka, and Iida quickly went off for the water rides, and Bakugo took his group of friends towards the roller coasters, Kyoka tagging along with Kaminari. The others went off with their own to play games and go in the Haunted House. Momo stared after them, feeling a little lost.

"They went off quickly, didn't they?"

Momo jumped a little. "Ah, yes…" She turned to face Todoroki, who, by the slight sideways tilt of his head, looked a little lost himself. Nevertheless, the t-shirt and shorts suited him, and the sunlight flattered his hair.

They stood in awkward silence for a bit before he finally spoke. "Do you mind if I tag along with you a bit? I've never been to an amusement park before."

"O-oh, of course!" she stammered, hoping her staring hadn't been too obvious. "W-would you like to play some games or something?"

He shrugged, following her towards the vibrantly colored game booths as lively music blared from nearby speakers. Momo cringed inwardly as they walked. What was wrong with her? She was never this awkward with him during school, especially not when they were working. In theory, it should have been more relaxed when they were engaging in a leisure activity, not less…

She glanced over her shoulder, but Todoroki was simply looking around, presumably taking in the colorful rides and booths, a neutral expression on his face.

Momo clenched her fist. She was determined to make this normal, even fun. Especially if this was his first time, she wanted to make sure it was special.

"Here, Todoroki-san!" She waved him over to a ring-tossing game. "We throw the rings onto the wooden pegs, and depending how many we can get, we'll receive a prize."

He glanced around the booth, observing the variety of stuffed animals hanging on the back walls, the short wooden pegs. "Alright."

She gave the man behind the counter some money, and they took turns throwing rings, Momo first. She landed all three of hers. Resisting an urge to exclaim in victory, she gave the remaining three to Todoroki with a smile.

"Go ahead!"

He nodded and threw the first one, which landed between two pegs. The second and third both bounced off the pegs.

"It's harder than I thought," he commented matter-of-factly. "You made it look easy."

"A-ah!" Momo tried to ignore the way her heart fluttered at such a stupid compliment. It wasn't even a compliment, really. "Th-thank you."

The man behind the counter handed her a stuffed bear. It was low-quality, and Momo could tell the fur would likely fall out within in a few weeks, but it was still cute with its lopsided eyes and crooked nose.

She handed it to Todoroki. "Here."

He glanced at it before raising an eyebrow at her. "You don't want it?"

"Well, it's a custom that when friends play games together, the winner of a prize gives it to their friend." Momo held it out closer to him.

"Oh. Thanks." He took it awkwardly, as though he wasn't sure what to do with it, but Momo cherished the slight smile on his face.

They played a few more games, but while Momo was quite good at them, it turned out that Todoroki didn't quite have the same knack. By the time they'd finished with all the interesting game booths, he was carrying an armload of stuffed animals.

"You're good at the games," he commented as they walked away.

"I, um, used to go to amusement parks a lot with my parents." She swiped some stray hair behind her ear, hoping to distract him from her blush at another compliment. "So I've played all the games before."

"Still," he insisted. "Precision was never my specialty, but I'm pretty sure some of those games were rigged. It's amazing that you can win them."

Momo laughed. Her father often said the same thing about carnival games. "Perhaps."

They went to the locker area next, where Momo created a large canvas bag to stash all the animals while they went on some rides. It was almost lunchtime, and the typical wait for a ride was thirty minutes to an hour, so Momo calculated that they would probably have time for one ride before lunch.

"So, which ride would you like to try?" Momo asked, showing him the map. "I estimate we have time for only one before we should get some lunch."

He leaned closer to her to look at the map. Despite the warming weather, he still smelled fresh. Perhaps it was his Quirk regulating his body temperature. Momo resisted the urge to lean away from, hoping that she still smelled of the light perfume she'd put on that morning.

"I don't know," he said finally, still staring at the map. "Which is your favorite?"

"O-oh...um…" She looked intently at the map, now, having been too focused on their close proximity to truly examine it. "Probably the Texas Smash."

It was one of many All Might-themed rides— a roller coaster. It was relatively tame, without upside-down loops, but it had a mountainous path and a spiral shaped descent towards the end of the ride.

Todoroki nodded. "I want to try that one, then."

She smiled. "Alright."

They sat next to each other in one of the middle cars, the bar lowered to their laps. A butterfly fluttered in Momo's stomach, excitement rising in her throat at being on a roller coaster. Really, it had been too long since she'd come to an amusement park...With a sudden jolt, the line of cars began to move, soon ascending the first slope.

Todoroki still had a straight face, but his hands were clenched tightly around the bar. He glanced over the side, where he could see the whole park. The people below were miniaturized, the blaring music from below fading to silence with the altitude.

"This goes pretty high."

"Going up is the scariest part," Momo assured him, a balloon of anticipation expanding in her chest and stealing her breath. She'd always preferred not to hang onto the bar for an added thrill, but she'd never been the type to throw her hands in the air, either. Her legs fidgeted on their own, impatient for the drop.

Finally, they reached the top, hanging there for a long second before plunging down towards the earth. Momo screamed in delight, not worried about anyone hearing her when she couldn't even hear herself over the screaming of the people in front and behind her. The balloon in her chest burst, her body swelling with helium as the cars rushed towards the earth.

It was a fast ride after that, zooming up and down a few more mountains before swirling into the spiral with dizzying speed. The centrifugal force pushed her unexpectedly into Todoroki, who stiffened at the skin of her arm rubbing against his. Embarrassed, Momo used the bar to pry herself away from him.

A few seconds later, the ride was over. She climbed out, a smile glued to her face. Although she'd been a little embarrassed, it was hard to overcome the childish joy she felt after riding a roller coaster.

Todoroki climbed out after her, looking a little weak in the knees.

"Did you like it?" she asked, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. The adrenaline made it impossible to stay still.

"It was...interesting…" he replied weakly, giving the cars another glance. His gaze quickly flitted to her bare arm before moving back to her face, which flushed at the attention.

"I'm sorry about sliding into you," she said. Probably, that was why he'd looked at her arm.

"Oh, no, don't worry about that." He glanced at the cars again. "I was just surprised at how strong the centrifugal force was. I've never been flung in circles like that before."

"Ah. It _is_ a strange sensation," she agreed. With a lull in the conversation, she glanced at her watch, which read _1:30_ — high time to get lunch. "Would you like to eat lunch, now?"

"Sure."

There were many restaurants to choose from, it turned out, but they settled on one that served hamburgers.

Momo settled down in her chair while Todoroki picked up the food. Normally, eating with boys made her self-conscious, since she tended to eat as much or more than they did, but she knew Todoroki wasn't judging her for it. Still, this was slightly different than eating in the cafeteria or the local cafe— it was just the two of them, without school books to study or deadlines to stress over…

Todoroki placed the tray down, which held two burgers and two drinks with straws, along with Momo's side of fries. She'd also gotten a double patty.

They ate in silence, Todoroki sometimes looking out the window to his left. The afternoon sun played nicely on his hair, creating highlights in the red. She could really only see the texture of his scar in bright lighting like this, the skin slightly rough and crinkled. Some might have said that it wasn't the most attractive feature to have, but Momo felt it added to his handsomeness. It gave him a more approachable look.

Momo cleared her throat, mostly to get herself to stop staring. "So, after lunch, would you like to get some dessert? They have a wide variety of candy here."

He nodded. "Sure."

After some cotton candy and Pop Rocks, as well as a few more rides, the sky was beginning to darken. They'd only run into their classmates a few times during all that time, though that wasn't very surprising given the size of the park. Still, they'd managed to play a round of bumper cars with Tsuyu and Hagakure— who were surprisingly aggressive, play arcade games with Kyoka and Kaminari— who had massacred them, and go into the House of Mirrors with Aoyama— which had perhaps been a mistake. Nevertheless, spending time with their classmates had been fun.

Now, however, they were alone again, with time for one more ride before the park closed. They might not have had time if it weren't for the thinning crowds, but with the smaller number of people now milling around, Momo predicted that the wait wouldn't be too long.

She was nervous about asking, but she suddenly felt it in her gut— she would be frustrated with herself later if she didn't take the opportunity.

He was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking nonchalantly at the map she was holding in her hands. She bit her lip, pushing the words out despite the blush that rose to her cheeks. "Todoroki-san, would you like to ride the Ferris Wheel?"

"Sure."

When they arrived at the line, it was so short they were allowed on immediately, with a small basket all to themselves. They ascended slowly, a warm breeze gaining strength the higher up they went. Todoroki was once again watching their surroundings, but Momo watched in fascination as the two colors of his hair swirled against each other with the wind. The multicolored lights of the different rides and flashy signs were brighter in the evening sky, shining off their skin with an ethereal glow. As they gained more and more height, climbing slowly into the air, the upbeat music of below faded, leaving them in peaceful silence. Momo felt her body relax, a sense of tranquility soothing her.

"Why do you like this ride?" Todoroki asked, suddenly looking at her.

Her heart jumped into her throat, her hands clasping together nervously. The serenity wasn't quite gone, but the flutter of her heart added an undercurrent of tension, excitement. "O-oh, you don't like it?"

"No, it's fine. It's just...not really like the other rides." He looked at the spokes of the wheel, rotating slowly, majestically. "This one's slow. What's the point of it?"

Momo hesitated, glancing to her side. They were probably about a third of the way through the ride, but it was such a huge circle they were already quite high. "It...gives you quite a splendid view, doesn't it?"

Todoroki was quiet for a moment.

Momo looked back at him questioningly, wondering why he didn't reply. A blush crept up her neck when she realized he was staring right at her.

His eyes seemed locked on hers, shining in the fading light. His voice was soft. "Yeah...I guess it does."

"Um…" Momo looked down at her feet, her words sticking in her throat. Her heart was pounding so loud, she was sure he could hear it. It was probably nothing, she told herself, probably not what it sounded like. "W-well, I hope you enjoyed your time here."

"I did," he said, finally looking away from her. "Thanks."

"My pleasure." They still had a third of the ride to go, but they sat in silence for the rest of it, not even talking until they were near the exit of the park. But somehow, it wasn't so awkward anymore.

"See you tomorrow?" Momo raised a hand, heading towards the bus stop to meet Kyoka.

"Yeah." He started to turn away when he hesitated. "Hey, Yaoyorozu…"

"Yes?"

Todoroki walked back up to her apologetically. "I hope I didn't say anything that made you uncomfortable earlier…I didn't mean to."

"Oh, no!" Flustered, her gaze fell on the bag of stuffed animals he was holding in one hand. She was glad he was taking them with him. "It...it was nice."

"Oh." He hesitated again, glancing to the side for a moment before meeting her eyes again. Her heart hammered frantically against her ribs. "Um...then, would it be okay if…" He knit his eyebrows, an expression she'd never seen on him before. "If I...um...shook your hand?"

Momo blinked for a moment before letting out a small giggle. Without thinking, she kissed him on the cheek, just under his scar. His skin was hot and flushed.

"Oh…" He raised his free hand to touch the spot, both eyebrows rising in surprise. "Um…okay…"

It took a second for her to register what she'd just done. The butterflies in her stomach suddenly flapped in a frenzy, her cheeks catching fire. She put a hand over her mouth, her eyes growing wide, almost not quite believing what had happened. "O-oh, I'm sorry if that was strange—"

"No…" He let his hand drop, a small smile tugging at his lips. Momo couldn't tell what he was thinking, but there was a warm look in his eyes as he spoke. "It was nice."


	3. The Ashes of Our Memories

**TRIGGER WARNINGS: Contains: VARIOUS VIOLENT DEATHS (not joking here, guys), Strong language, Smoking, Slavery, War, Allusions to sexual themes (and probably more than a few historical inaccuracies; feel free to correct me on anything!)**

 **This is for Day 2 of TodoMomo Week on Tumblr; the theme is AU, so I went with a historical/reincarnation AU!**

 **ruiyuki on Tumblr inspired me to write a reincarnation AU using the star-crossed lovers trope! Thanks! :D**

* * *

Shoto knew it was wrong to be thinking of her, especially now.

Her home loomed ahead, blending in with the darkness until he stood directly in its shadow, dwarfed by its sheer size. The front door stood with its familiar stern severity, decorated with intricate iron ornaments, intimidating and solid. The wood paneling of the walls was still in pristine condition, without a crack for the cold to enter. Even in night, the house glowed with an aura of wealth and dignity.

The only thing that was different now was the violent smear of blood across the dark wood of the walls, twitching bodies lying on either side of the door. Screams of pain clawed at Shoto's eardrums from behind, the clash of metal against metal ringing out of the darkness like sparks. The air smelled of sharp and sour gore, an almost tangible stench. Shoto knew some of the men falling for their final time were his own, and yet he didn't worry about anything but her.

He clenched his fists, cursing himself. The Yaoyorozu Clan were now enemies of the Todoroki Clan. He couldn't allow himself to forget that.

"Open the door!" he called, his voice foreign, commanding, hard. Iida rushed forward and thrust it open as Shoto led the charge inside, his katana drawn.

"Iida, Midoriya, Bakugo, you go through the east wing!" He'd left the rest of his subordinates outside to fight the Yaoyorozu samurai defending their master's house. The effort to keep his voice even was almost enough to break him. "Kill everyone!"

"Yes, sir!" They ran the way he indicated.

 _I'll take care of Momo myself,_ he thought, heading down into the west wing of the house.

He ran, he rushed towards his destiny, obedient as a child, and yet...His heart ached, as though someone was ripping it out of his chest, arteries and veins snapping as roots of an uprooted tree. He could still remember the feeling of her fingers running through his hair, the warmth of her body, the soft curve of her cheek, the salty taste of her lips as she whispered to him the name of her betrothed, a name he didn't recognize. He could see their last night together every time he blinked.

Her wedding was only in one week, now, but he hadn't been able to find an excuse to convince the shogun to wait. When it came to clan warfare, his father was relentless. And Shoto could never tell anyone about his secret lover.

He kicked in the door to her bedroom, a room that was painfully familiar to him. The furniture was the same, undisturbed by the violence overtaking the rest of the house. To see it sent a pang through his already battered heart.

Shoto swallowed, making sure not to stutter. Now was not the time for weakness. "Show yourself, Witch!"

With a sharp cry, she jumped from the shadows, aiming a short knife at a chink in his armor. He caught the blow on his katana.

Her voice was a menacing hiss. "Have you forgotten, Todoroki, my skill in _tantojutsu?_ "

He almost faltered when she called him by his family name, but he forced his resolve back. She was another enemy, now, no more, no less. He threw her off, sending her crashing into a set of drawers. The furniture crashed to the ground.

"You think you stand a chance against a samurai, the Shogun's son?" His voice was someone else's, speaking threats automatically, though he was normally silent in battle. He knew he was stalling, a luxury he did not have for this raid.

"No," Momo stood, wiping some blood from her arm. "Of course not. But I will not go down without a fight!"

 _Good._ She had no illusions about the situation. She knew he was here to kill her.

He charged her, katana ready. It was true that she was talented; had she been born a boy, she would have been one of her clan's most fearsome samurai. But as a woman, she'd only received rudimentary training.

After a brief exchange of blows, he disarmed her, pinning her to the wall with the edge of his blade at her throat. Tears spilled down her cheeks, water mixed with blood. It took Shoto a moment to realize he was crying, too.

"I'm sorry it turned out like this…" she whispered, her voice choked. Shoto knew he was the one suffocating her. "Thank you for doing it yourself…"

He'd thought he was ready, but now that the moment was upon him, a strangled sob escaped his lips. There was nothing he wanted more than to release her, embrace her, but duty had turned his limbs to stone, leaving his heart to bleed out.

"Momo…" His voice was full of remorse, shaking with grief. "Momo, I love you…"

She grasped his trembling hand where it held the katana, offering him a grim smile through her tears. "Then make it fast...Shoto."

As she finished the final syllable of his name, he slashed his blade quickly, as she'd requested. Gently, he lowered her body to the floor.

"Lord Todoroki!" Midoriya's voice rang out from the hallway. "Are you here?"

Shoto breathed deeply, wiping the tears from his eyes and hardening his voice. Now that she was gone, perhaps his heart could harden, too. "Yes."

He stepped into the hallway where the others were waiting for him, covered in the blood of the Yaoyorozu Clan.

Shoto sheathed his scarlet-stained katana. "It is done."

* * *

 _I've seen him before._

"Who is he?" Sokanon demanded, pointing from the top of their cliff at a young Englishman, standing beside his enormous father, an unreadable expression on his face.

"One of the English boys…" Chepi yawned, blowing a little air through her reed flute. "Another named John, I think. Why?"

"I just…" Sokanon didn't know how to explain it; she couldn't explain it. But somehow, she had the uncanny feeling she knew him from somewhere.

"If you think he's cute, then talk to him," Chepi suggested, nonchalantly twirling a piece of tall grass around her finger. "I'm sure Chief Powhatan wouldn't mind another tie of marriage."

Sokanon blushed, though it had been a common topic of discussion now that she was reaching marriageable age. "Marriage! I didn't say anything about that!"

Chepi smirked, standing and stretching. "Alright, alright. I've gotta go help my mom with chores anyway."

"Alright…" She glanced back down at the Englishmen, who appeared to be trading with some of her people down on the beach, before following Chepi back to their homes.

It wasn't until a week later that she saw him again. In truth, she'd gone down to the beach to look for him when she'd heard the Englishmen were coming up the river for trade again. Her English wasn't perfect, but she'd learned a bit from listening.

"Hello."

He turned, but didn't otherwise react to her presence. "Hello."

Up close, yes, she was certain she'd seen him before. His hair was golden, curly, unfamiliar, his skin very pale compared to her tan tone. But his eyes were the same— one black, one blue. The same as _who,_ though she couldn't remember.

"My name is Sokanon." She stuck her hand out as she'd seen her people do with the Englishmen to greet them.

He accepted her handshake. "John Cook."

His voice, too, was familiar to her, awakening a deep aching in her heart, as though it had been hollow for all these years and she was only just discovering it. He looked at her curiously, as though he also felt the connection.

"Have we met somewhere before?" she asked finally.

"I don't think so." Still, he eyed her strangely.

She managed a smile. "Pleased to meet you, then. Would you like me to show you around our land?"

He glanced at his father, who appeared to be haggling with her uncle, who was trading him colored beads for some other product. From the way they were gesticulating to each other, it didn't appear they'd be done any time soon.

"Sure."

He followed her up footpaths leading up the cliff and into the woods above. They walked along the outskirts of her village so he could see without disturbing anyone's work.

He was a quiet boy, apparently. She watched him carefully.

"Your land is very beautiful." He spoke at last.

"Thank you. I am glad you like it."

They spent a little while more in silence before John took his leave, citing his father's bad temper. When he expressed a desire to see her again, her heart leaped, though she didn't know why.

"Yes! Do come back!" she said, too enthusiastically. She cleared her throat in embarrassment. "I-I would like that very much."

He nodded, following back down the path she'd brought him up with confident poise. She felt oddly flattered that he'd remembered the way so perfectly.

In the weeks that followed, the two of them snuck away each time he visited, enjoying themselves in the forests. Sokanon had never had many friends besides Chepi, so she was glad for John.

And today was another chance to spend time with him. Sokanon never took the opportunities for granted. They strolled slowly through the forests together, not too far from the beach, admiring the leaves changing color. The damp leaf litter made slight crunching sounds as they walked, the air moist yet crisp with the beginnings of autumn.

"I have to go back to England, soon," he said, suddenly.

Fear gripped her with icy hands. "What? Why?"

"My father has business interests there." He shrugged helplessly.

"Will...will you ever return?"

"Possibly." He looked at his boots. "But I can't be sure."

Sokanon didn't know why, but she felt as though her world was crumbling around her, as though the earth beneath her feet was shifting, disappearing. It was ridiculous; she'd known him only a few months, and she had Chepi and a family who loved her. It wasn't as though he was the only person in her life. And yet...the possibility of losing him was like plummeting into a dark chasm, the ground simply vanishing to doom her to a forever of falling.

"I wish I could stay." He said, looking at his feet. "If I'm honest...you're the only the only friend I've ever—"

Suddenly, she was squeezing him tightly, her tears soaking into his tunic as she buried her face in his shoulder.

"...had…" His voice broke, too. He squeezed her back, just as hard.

She had to do it, before he left her. They were almost the same height, so it was easy. She lifted his chin. As they stared into each other's eyes, she was sure of it; she'd _known_ him before she knew him...

Slowly, to make sure he wanted it too, she pressed her mouth to his. He didn't return the pressure, but didn't move away from it, either. She tasted the salt on his lips.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, a tear tracing down his cheek. Something about those words sent a jolt through her body, as though she'd been suddenly plunged into a wintery river.

She was about to speak when gunshots ran out, screams coming from the beach. John stiffened immediately.

"What...what are they _doing_?" he muttered, dark anger entering his voice. He started running.

Sokanon started to follow, her heart pounding fast for worry of who had been shot and why, but she froze at the top of the cliff when she heard people shouting battle cries in her language. The Englishmen screamed as her people cut them down with axes, and her people barely had time to cry out before the Englishmen shot bullets through their heads. John sprang onto the scene from the forest, jumping between two warring peoples without hesitation, his hands spread in a futile gesture of peace.

"No...no, don't fight! Please!" Sokanon screamed, her voice raw, ragged. " _Please!"_

But her cry fell on deaf ears as she watched John's blood spread across the sand, a Powhatan war axe in his chest.

"Sokanon, get away from there!" Someone pulled her back.

"NO!" she screeched. "NO!"  
Chepi wrapped her arms around her struggling friend, pulling her down and away from the cliff's edge. "Come on! It's not safe!"

" _JOHN!_ "

* * *

 _I've seen her before._

Of course he had. He'd grown up alongside her, Angelina Thompson. Though a poor girl, the daughter of a dairy farmer, she was known among the small village as one of the most beautiful. Phillip, on the other hand, was the son of the wealthiest man in the region, betrothed to someone else— some stranger from far away, someone who, at least for now, was merely an abstraction. A concept.

And, yet, this stranger weighed on his mind even as he pressed his hand deeper into the small of Angelina's back.

"Phillip…" she whispered in his ear, running her fingers through his thick, dark locks, a gesture that filled him with that strange, familiar longing.

 _I've seen her before._

They kissed again, gently, slowly, sitting on the bed just below his window, secluded in the darkness of his cavernous bedroom. The cool light of the midnight sky filled the room with a melancholy blue, a shade all too fitting for their love. Philip couldn't let it go too far, since he'd never be allowed to marry her, but this...this was okay.

They pulled apart a moment, just admiring each other. Her eyes had always intrigued him— a deep charcoal black, as though he could fall into their depths for all eternity, and yet they seemed to hold their own luster, the luminescence of knowing something no one else did.

"Angelina…" He brushed a blond curl from her face before forcing his hand away, letting it rest on the heavy fabric of his trousers. "We have to stop this, don't we? I thought we said…"

"I tried." She looked away, gripping the rough cotton of her dress. "We both tried. But here we are."

He looked away, too, not really seeing anything. What was he thinking? His father would be furious if his affair was found out, not to mention what the church would say...

Something clenched in his chest, the words trapped there resisting the force of his lungs. "Then maybe…" His fists closed on their own. "Maybe I should push the wedding closer."

"But why?" Angelina took his hand, and his fist opened on its own at her touch. "We should enjoy the time we have left!"

"We can't...we can't do this anymore!" He pulled his hand away. "If anyone finds out about us…"

"So this is about your reputation?" she asked, her voice going bitter.

He looked her in the eye, now, hurt that she would think this was about him. "You'll have no chance at a marriage if the church finds out. What about Bryce? He's wanted you for ages."

"I don't love him, Phillip." She stood, rested her hands on his shoulders, letting them flutter down his arms until she held his hands. Her voice was still low, sour. "That pastor's son is no man of God."

"Angelina... " He stood, too, turning and pulling his hands from her grasp. He gazed out the window at the wooded hills surrounding his father's estate, resting his hands on the cool wood of the windowsill. "We have to stop seeing each other. The longer we wait, the harder it becomes."

She stood, too. "You're right...I know you are...but..."

Phillip gazed into the dark sky, the stars apparently hiding from the brilliance of tonight's moon, illuminating the depths of the heavens all on its own. It was an ugly sight compared to Angelina's eyes.

He'd thought it over a million times— the only way for them to be together was to run. But he couldn't ask her to leave her family behind, her friends...not when she was loved and needed by so many people…

She moved, suddenly, stalking across his bedroom and quietly closing the door behind her.

 _Gone._

Phillip sank to the ground, a hand pressed tightly to his mouth. He couldn't let even the smallest tear escape, couldn't allow himself to cry for her. If he did, he was sure he'd never stop.

It was two weeks before he saw her again.

It was a cruel, crisp night— no wind, but the air seemed to nip at his fingertips, numb his toes. He was walking past the town square when he heard the pastor's son, screaming his usual hysterics about the Devil and the evil of his servants— the witches— and how tonight they would burn another. A crowd of villagers jeered their approval, waving their torches and primitive weapons.

Phillip didn't normally stop to watch such public executions. He'd never taken the pleasure others did in destroying so-called witches, and he'd taken a particular disliking to the pastor's son ever since he'd found Bryce aimed to marry Angelina. He didn't know why he stopped to see the witch they were burning tonight. He didn't know why he turned his head and looked, and yet—

Suddenly, the ground was shifting beneath his feet. He couldn't breathe, as though his chest was imploding, collapsing under the weight of senseless violence.

He ran into the crowd, clawed through it as a drowning man clings at the water around him.

" _STOP!_ "

Bryce lowered his torch a moment, confused. Phillip continued to shove through the crowd, though it felt he was trying to split the sea itself. Finally, he broke through, met eyes with the woman tied to the stake.

"Phillip?" Angelina's voice was choked with fear.

"What are you doing, Bryce?!" Phillip demanded. The other man was standing on a raised platform, almost like a stage, holding a roaring torch. "You love her!"

Bryce's eyes narrowed. He pointed at Phillip with the fire, addressing the crowd. His voice boomed with authority. "A witch's familiar! Bind him!"

"What—?"

Before he could blink, the mob surged forward, in a feral frenzy. They took his arms, brought him to the ground, beat him with their crude weapons, shouted insults and holy words meant to destroy him.

" _Phillip!_ "

Her screams echoed in his skull.

When he awoke, he was lying on the stone floor of a jail cell, the taste of blood sharp in his mouth. The smell of smoke on his clothes.

The rage was a flash-flood, filling his body with boiling water until he thought he would burst. " _Bryce!_ " Phillip gripped the frozen bars of the cell. The metal seemed to cut into his flesh.

"I did love her…" The voice was soft, almost regretful. Bryce stepped out of the shadows, daring to stand in front of the cell. Phillip saw the flames of hatred reflected in his eyes. Bryce's voice went bitter. "But she loved you more."

"So you _killed_ her?!" His voice became a low growl. "You _bastard_ …" Bryce turned, began to walk away. Phillip screamed at his back. " _Coward!_ You call yourself a man of God, but you're not even human!" His voice was hoarse, ragged, dying in his throat. He reached between the bars, desperately trying to grasp something that no longer existed. "Come back and face me, _Demon_!"

The door at the end of the hall slammed with finality.

The tears were icy streams down his face.

* * *

 _I've seen him before._

Of course she had. She'd grown up alongside him, Samuel Peterson. One of her father's most hard-working slaves since the day he'd started, the one she'd secretly spent her childhood playing with, the stable-boy-in-training who now took care of the horses himself. She used to sneak off after lessons just to play with him, used to pretend she was more interested in the horses just to have an excuse to go to the stables...Even as the years went by, her 'interest' in the horses hadn't changed.

And yet, somehow, that thought would cross her mind when she saw him, every once in a while, as though she was simultaneously looking at a stranger and an old friend.

 _I've seen him before._

Lydia closed her eyes, tracing a finger down his arm, interlocking her delicate fingers with his. They were lying next to each other in one of the barns, behind a few bales of hay, simply enjoying the silence between them. Of course, it was the sort of thing they wouldn't dare do until after Samuel was done with the day's work and before it was Lydia's curfew, but in that perfect little window of time…

She sighed contentedly. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine they had a future together, one where they could be honest, one where they could be happy, one where color didn't matter.

But in the deep South, she couldn't even admit to having such a dream. She'd never even dared to ask Samuel if he had the same one.

Samuel stroked a stray hair from her face. She smiled at his touch, eyes still shut in a fantasy. Her lips formed the words on their own. "Wouldn't it be nice…?"

"What?" He sounded concerned.

She chuckled a little, squeezing his hand. She threw the thought away. "You're always so serious, Samuel…"

She could hear the smile in his voice, a sound that filled her with yearning. "So are you."

"Fair enough," she said.

And yet, she could almost imagine that this was okay.

They sat in comfortable silence for another minute before Samuel broke the silence. "Lydia...I've been thinking…"

Lydia opened her eyes. "Yes?"

He hesitated a moment, looking away from her gaze. "I've been thinking of…" He bit his lip. "Of going away, maybe changing my name and heading North."

Suddenly, the room was spinning. She gripped his hand tighter, felt the calluses on his skin press into the soft flesh of hers. Her voice was a whisper. "What?"

Samuel met her gaze, his ever-familiar mismatched eyes boring into hers with steady intensity. "I want to run away."

"But...but why?" Instantly, Lydia regretted the question. She knew it had always been hard for him here, particularly in recent years. Her mother had always had a tendency to take out her frustrations on the slaves, and with the recent developments in her marriage...

Samuel pulled away, sitting up and turning to look at her. It was dark, but she felt she could see him clearly anyway, could see how serious he was about this.

Even though she knew the answer, she asked. "Y-you mean with permission, right?"

Samuel shrugged, his mouth in a slight frown. "Your mother would never free me. She hates me."

"It's not you," Lydia reassured him as she sat up, even though she knew all the words she had were worthless. "It's just...she's going through a difficult time with finding out about Father's mistress and all...She's snapping at everyone right now."

Samuel sighed, running a hand through his curly hair. "Well, you can't cheat on your future husband, too."

"What?" Lydia let out a breathless laugh, her heart skipping a beat. There was nothing she wanted more than to ask if he'd had the same foolish fantasy as she... "But I'm not even engaged, Samuel…"

"But if I stay…we wouldn't be able to stay apart…" His gaze fell on hers, almost pleading. "Would we?"

Lydia clenched her fists, biting her lip to hold back the tears. "You're right, but…" She took a deep breath. She couldn't be so selfish to force him to stay, couldn't be so selfish as to ask him for more details, for more time, even if it was just one more minute. "You're right." She tried to smile, but it was wobbly. "You deserve freedom. Go for it."

He smiled at her sadly. "Thank you."

Suddenly, she couldn't hold it back anymore. With a cry, she grabbed his collar, pulled him into a hungry kiss. They didn't meet in the barn anymore after that. Three days later, the stable boy disappeared, leaving behind only a note in crooked handwriting:

 _I'm sorry._

It had puzzled her father, but Lydia knew what he meant.

The sun was rising two days later when she heard the gunshots. Her entire body froze up, her heart pounding, her ears pricked and listening. Dogs barked in the distance, snarled.

"Mistress Lydia?" Samantha stopped dressing her, looking at her with a concerned expression.

"S-Samantha…" Her hands began to shake. "What was that?"

Samantha bit her lip, looked at the corset strings in her hands instead of Lydia's eyes. "I didn't hear anything, Mistress." She pulled the strings tighter.

Fifteen minutes later, Lydia was looking for her father. She felt she was floating, nothing more than a mere ghost. The hallways of her home seemed foreign to her, suddenly full of strangers, the old oil portraits on the walls stared at her with accusing eyes. She didn't want to think…

And yet, she knew.

Finally, she found her father in the parlor, talking to a strange man in dirty boots with a rifle slung across his back. He tipped his hat at Lydia and greeted her, but she ignored him.

"Father?" She braced herself on the doorframe, dizzy. She didn't want to enter the same room as the strange man. "I heard gunshots."

Her father clucked his tongue, turning away the man. He stroked his mustache with his mouth agape, as though he didn't have anything sufficient to say. "It seems Mr. Williams found our stable boy."

"He resisted," added the slave hunter nonchalantly. He tucked his thumbs into his belt, rocked back on his heels with his chin lifted, almost as though he was proud. "Had no choice but to shoot 'im."

Her heart jumped into her throat, beating furiously, sending scorching heat through her entire body. Acid rose from her stomach, filled her chest, her lungs. She felt herself turning to smoking ash, disappearing, disintegrating. Suddenly, she was on the ground.

 _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_

Her father's voice was far away. "Lydia?!"

The tears burned against her cheeks.

* * *

 _I've seen her before._

Hamilton called out before he knew what he was doing. "Excuse me! Miss?"

She stopped, bewildered. When she met his eyes, her jaw dropped. Strangers were often surprised by his unsightly scar and dual-colored eyes when they first met, but something else sparkled in her eyes when she saw him, almost like recognition. She didn't recoil from the sight of his face the way others did.

"Oh, yes, sir?" She had a slight Irish accent, probably a recent immigrant. Her dress was shabby, and her bonnet looked worn-out.

"Um…" Now that he had her attention, though, he didn't know what to say. "W-would you mind if I bought you a drink?"

She raised a hand to her mouth. "Oh, that's—um, that's alright; I wouldn't want to cost you anything—"

"I insist!" He didn't know why he was acting this way; he was usually very reserved, especially when it came to women, but something about this one…

"W-well, you see, I really need to get home to help my mother with the household chores…" She glanced him up and down, taking in his expensive clothes, his carefully styled hair, the gold pocket watch chain hanging from his pants pocket.

"Could you perhaps join me for a short smoke, then?" He offered her a cigarette.

"Ah...I suppose that would be alright." She accepted the cigarette from his hand and allowed him to light it for her. "My name is Mary O'Sullivan, by the way. I just immigrated here from Ireland three months ago. And you are?"

"Hamilton Elliston."

"E-Elliston!" She jumped two feet away from him. "As in Elliston Oil…?"

He sighed, puffing out a small cloud of smoke. "Yes, my father owns the company."

"O-oh my…" She inched back to her original position. "That's...very impressive."

He shrugged. "I didn't do anything for it except work in his factory for a bit in my teenage years." He didn't know why he was telling her his story, but somehow he felt she would understand, would listen. "Got my face injured in an accident there."

"Oh…" Suddenly, she seemed more comfortable around him, as though knowing he had had a taste of her lifestyle made him more down-to-earth. "It must have been painful."

"A lot of the real workers have it worse...losing limbs and stuff like that. Some die." Hamilton admitted. "Been trying to organize a union behind my dad's back, to be totally honest with you..."

"A union!" Mary smiled. "I'm in one myself."

"Impressive," Hamilton returned her smile. It was dangerous work to be in a union, especially for a woman, but somehow he'd expected Mary to have the courage. "Where do you work?"

"Triangle Shirtwaist Factory," she said. "Ninth floor, right in the middle of the room. It's pretty crowded."

Of course, Hamilton had known that. Most factories were ridiculously crowded, to the point of danger. He wished he could offer Mary money or assistance, but after they'd finished their cigarettes, all he could offer was to walk her home. She lived in a crowded apartment building, dirty and crumbling on the outside and probably also quite dingy on the inside.

"Well, Mr. Elliston," Mary clasped her hands in front of her. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

"Call me Hamilton," he urged. "And the pleasure was mine." It was a familiar phrase in his mouth, but he almost never truly meant it.

"Call me Mary, then." She smiled, dimples appearing in her cheeks.

Finally, he allowed himself to really look at her eyes. Somehow, they were familiar— a solid black some might call plain, but to him seemed brighter than diamond.

Her voice broke him out of his thoughts. "I hope we can meet again."

"Ah— of course."

Meet again they did. Every day after work, he would watch from the corner. Her shifts were too long, so he often didn't want to bother her or distract her when she had union business, but on those few nights when she was free, he made sure to be there. He'd never met anyone like her— bright, kind, brave, resilient. Soon enough, Hamilton was sure he'd fallen in love with her.

His father would never approve, but he'd never mentioned her name aloud. Instead, he reserved it for his thoughts, wondering why she'd seemed so familiar when they'd first met, but nevertheless glad that they had.

It was a cold March day when he purchased the matching gold rings. Mary was a simple woman, and wouldn't have wanted anything too fancy, so he'd asked his sister to help him choose something tasteful but practical. He'd decided on a simple golden band.

He was waiting for her in his usual corner, two blocks away from her workplace when he heard the sirens. Only then did he look up and see the choking black smoke rising in the distance.

His heart turned to ice. He ran.

There were crowds of people outside, firefighters trying in vain to reach the blazing upper floors of the building. People who had come out of the building sat with blankets around their shoulders, eyes glassy and fixed on the inferno. Bodies littered the sidewalks, presumably because they'd jumped. The acid churned in his stomach.

 _The ninth floor._

His hands shaking, he counted the floors up to the where the fire began. The ninth floor was right in the middle of it.

"Mary!" He looked around wildly, his voice growing desperate as he called her again and again, but he didn't see her anywhere. He wanted to ask a fireman, or one of the police officers standing by, beg anyone for help, but he knew that if he got in their way, they may not be able to save more workers. Perhaps Mary had escaped to the roof, or had come down and already gone home.

It was hours later when the fire was finally extinguished. Hamilton stayed the entire time, watching the scene in terror. It was advised that anyone who had loved ones unaccounted for go to the morgue and look for them. Hamilton could barely walk, but he found himself floating through the halls of the morgue some time later, bodies lining both sides of the hallway. Many of them were badly burned.

"Mary…" There she was among the corpses, her skin gray, her lips ashen. He fell to his knees in front of her, the world blurring and disappearing around him, reduced to him and her. "Mary…"

Tears clouded his vision as he slipped the gold band around her stiffened hand. Her skin was charred and cold.

"I'm sorry…"

* * *

 _I've seen him before._

"Excuse me, what's your name?"

He put the crate of baseball equipment down next to the metal sheeting that made up their shanties before wiping some sweat from his brow.

"George Sato." He offered her his hand, but his face remained serious.

She smiled, somehow reassured by his slightly unfriendly demeanor. "Annie Nakamura."

He nodded, turning away to pull the baseball glove off of his left hand. She'd seen him organizing a game for the children at the internment camp, serving as the catcher. Her younger brother was already quite enamored with the one he called 'Mr. Sato.'

"So, George, I was wondering...would you like to hang out sometime?"

He tilted his head, as though trying to figure out where he'd seen her before. Somehow, it felt to her like she'd seen him somewhere else, other than just in passing around the camp. But his left eye was a curious, somehow nostalgic shade of blue, rare for Japanese people; she would have remembered if she'd known him.

"Sure." He replied. Thankfully, he didn't seem to read it as a romantic gesture. After all, Annie told herself, she was only checking him out because he spent so much time with the camp's children. "But...it's not like we can really go anywhere."

She glanced at the barbed wire fence about fifty feet away, the tower armed with guns pointed in at them.

"We could sit and talk," she suggested.

He nodded. "Sure."

He didn't talk much, it turned out, but that was fine. Annie felt as though she knew what he was thinking anyway. At first, they talked only about safe subjects— hobbies, childhood memories, things like that. But as the weeks went by, the subject eventually shifted to the camps, everything they'd lost, where their future would be after the war.

"Do you resent them for it?" she asked quietly. They were sitting next to each other, leaning against each other, behind one of the barracks.

"Roosevelt and the whole lot in D.C.? Yeah." George scraped at the hard-packed earth with his index finger. "You?"

Annie watched to see what he drew, but it seemed to be a bunch of meaningless scribbles. "It's...a hard question. On the one hand, this is wrong...it's unlawful no matter how you look at it, to do all this just because of where our parents came from. But on the other...America is still our home, the only home we've ever known. It would be wrong to turn our backs on our country at a time like this."

George managed a smile. Annie wasn't sure if he was laughing at her.

"What?" she demanded.

"Nothing," he insisted. "I'm just...glad I met you, that's all."

"Oh…" A blush rose to her cheeks, her heart racing. When had she started having these feelings…?

"Uh, Annie…?" It was strange; he didn't normally hesitate.

"Yes?"

He seemed to be thinking his next words over carefully, staring at the drawing he'd made in the ground. "Can I...can I kiss you?"

She couldn't help a small gasp. She was sure her face was burning.

He turned a similar shade of red. "S-sorry, I shouldn't have—!"

"No, it's...that's…" She swallowed. "That would be...fine."

Three weeks later, the order came that Japanese-Americans could now enlist in the war. They were sitting behind the barracks again, hand-in-hand. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I'm enlisting," George said suddenly.

"What?" Annie sat up straighter, turning to face him. "Why?"

His face was always serious, but there was a sense of purpose gleaming in his eyes now. "It's because of what you told me. You were right; this is our home. I want the chance to defend it."

Her voice was a whisper. "But…"

"Besides…" He stared into the distance with intensity. "That'll show those idiots down in Washington where the real enemy is."

She tried to smile despite the fog of foreboding settling in her gut, heavy and dense. "You're right. I'm proud of you, George."

He smiled back, now, meeting her eyes. "Thanks, Annie."

Three months later, his letters stopped coming. She told herself it was probably slow postage. She told herself the war was causing problems with the sending of mail. She told herself he was too busy to be writing her too often.

But somehow, she knew.

A letter arrived for his loved ones. As she ripped open the envelope, she felt she was ripping open her heart. She already knew what the letter would say, but she scanned the piece of paper frantically, grasping at any possibility that she could be wrong.

She wasn't. He'd been killed in combat. She fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face. She pressed a hand to her mouth, but she couldn't suppress the cry of anguish forcing its way up her throat.

"I'm sorry!"

* * *

 _I've seen her before._

"Dr. Todoroki?" Her voice was sweet, soft, as it had always been.

"Ah, excuse me Dr. Yaoyorozu…" He rubbed at his temple, pulling his swivel chair closer to the table they were working at. "I'm just feeling a bit under the weather. That's all."

She looked at him worriedly. "I see...Would you like to take a break?"

Truth be told, Shoto wanted to go home altogether, but he settled for a bathroom break. He'd met Dr. Yaoyorozu just the week before to work together on an environmental engineering project, and he'd found that she was a wonderful person to work with— intelligent, resourceful, thoughtful, beautiful…

When he'd told Izuku and Tenya about her, they'd promptly accused him of having a crush on his co-worker. He wasn't so sure if that was what it was; something about her just felt so familiar, like he'd already met her a hundred times before…

Shoto sighed as he walked to the bathroom, hands in the pockets of his khakis. Something was definitely wrong with him. He splashed some water on his face in an attempt to clear his head, but his thoughts drifted inappropriately again.

 _What was her first name, again…?_

"Momo…" he whispered.

And suddenly, it all rushed back with the force of a tsunami, a category five hurricane, a 10.0 on the Richter scale. Names, images, words, sensations...He remembered. Everything.

He clutched his head in one hand, bracing himself over the sink with the other. Was he losing his mind?

 _No, no…_ He tried to shake it off. Those memories were probably crazy dreams he'd had over the past week or so. Those memories were probably nothing.

A few minutes later, he returned to the meeting room, sitting back in his chair.

"Are you feeling any better, Dr. To—?"

"Call me Shoto," he blurted out.

"O-oh..." She looked at him sideways, suddenly suspicious.

"Everyone else at our office calls me that, that's all," he added hastily. It wasn't a lie, either. He just wanted to know what would happen when she said his name.

"Alright…" She cleared her throat. Perhaps he'd gone too far. "Anyway, back to work."

A few hours later, they'd finished the project. Dr. Yaoyorozu stood, tucking her pen behind her ear. "Well, if all goes well we won't have to meet again. It was a pleasure working with you, D—…" She smiled apologetically. "Shoto."

There. Her eyes went unfocused for a moment, and she almost lost her balance. Shoto stood and reached out instinctively, but she steadied herself on the table, breathing heavily. "Who…?"

She met his eyes again, her voice a whisper. "I've seen you before."

A chill tingled down his spine at her words, mirroring the thought he'd had a hundred times. "I know…"

He could see in her ever-familiar eyes the story that always played out without variation— a tale of lovers struck by tragedy, ending in one of their deaths, the other doomed to live on without the other. The story of two fools who saw again and again the cruelty of fate, and yet never seemed to _learn_.

"What was…?" Momo broke away from his gaze. "I have to go."

Shoto wanted to tell her to wait, ask her to stay, _beg_ her to...but he swallowed his own wishes, saying nothing as she ran out of the office.

He sat alone in his apartment twenty minutes later, staring at the water tracing its way down his bedroom window, a hundred lives' worth of tears. He had her phone number because of the project they were working on. He had her email. He could contact her, and maybe…

 _No._

It would only end in tragedy, as it did every time they got too close.

With that on his mind, Shoto went to bed, pulling the covers over his cold body.

It wasn't until the weekend that he saw her again, by chance. He was on the subway during rush hour, crowded against too many people. Someone crushed his foot.

"Ah, I'm sorry—!" She turned around, but froze when she saw it was him. "Sho—...Dr. Todoroki! H-hello!"

"Hi…"

She swallowed. "I hope I didn't hurt your foot."

"No, don't worry." He said, suddenly uncomfortable that they were so close. Bidding her goodnight, he got off the train three stops early. He would take the next one.

Then he saw her at a coffee shop, sitting alone at a table for two.

He almost called out to her, but he bit his tongue. She saw him, too, but looked away as soon as they met eyes. His coffee suddenly feeling cold in his hands, he left the shop hurriedly, pretending he had somewhere to be.

He tried to tell himself she was there waiting for someone, probably a date, but he couldn't bring himself to believe it.

He saw her again at a charity gala, chatting amiably with potential donors. Again, their eyes locked, but Shoto turned away.

A month later, he was unpacking boxes in his new apartment when there was a knock on his door. He opened it, and she was standing there, holding a jar of jam. She dropped it when she saw him, and it shattered between them, red jam splattering across the carpet. A sickly sweet smell drifted from the jelly.

"Mo—" he cleared his throat. "Dr. Yaoyorozu. What are you—? How did you—? Um…"

"I was bringing a housewarming gift…" She was still staring at him. "I...I live next door."

Shoto didn't know what to say, what to think. Why did fate keep pushing them together, only to pull them apart as violently as it could? What had they done to deserve this, forced to dance the same torturous moves over and over and over, the curtain never falling on their story? Instead, they lived and died through tragedy after tragedy.

Finally, Momo sighed, looking down at the jam. "We can't do this anymore, can we?"

"We…" Shoto swallowed, his hands trembling. "It's a risk. We could die."

"We'll be born again." The hope in her voice was dangerous. Momo stepped closer, as close as she could get without stepping on the broken glass.

Shoto squeezed his eyes shut, remembering their first life, when he'd been forced to kill her. It was strange— a memory, and yet a dream. Perhaps that was what had started it all. "It could hurt."

Hesitantly, Momo stepped over the mess between them, and he stepped back, letting her into his apartment. She laid a hand on his shoulder, drawing him closer. Automatically, he wrapped a hand around her back, tilted his head to match the angle of hers…

"I'm willing to risk it," Momo whispered sweetly against his lips. "Are you?"

"I...I am."

Their wedding was a month later. They were both nervous wrecks, constantly checking on each other, making sure absolutely nothing could go wrong, even though it was probably futile to struggle against fate.

But Shoto couldn't help but smile as he held her hands in his, a simple white veil sitting in her dark hair. They sealed their love as their family and friends clapped, even though most of them had been shocked that the two were getting married so soon.

They leaned their foreheads together instead of drawing away, not wanting the moment to end. After all, they were well-acquainted with eternity.

They didn't dare to speak until they were alone, in a backroom undressing after the reception. "We've never made it this far before." Momo remarked quietly, gently laying her veil over a table. "To marriage, I mean."

"No." Shoto threw his suit jacket over a chair stiffly, not sure how to feel.

"Perhaps…" Momo hesitated, running a finger along the edge of the veil. "Perhaps this is our last time."

Shoto managed a smile, taking her soft hand in his. "If it is, I plan to spend it all with you."

Fifty-five years later, he was sitting next to her hospital bed, preparing to say goodbye once again. He held her wrinkled, worn hand in his, kissed it with weathered lips.

His voice was hoarse with age. "I guess it always ends this way...doesn't it?"

"No…" Her voice was a breathless whisper. She squeezed his hand one last time as tears filled his eyes. "It never really ends."

He kissed her forehead as the heart monitor flatlined, one of his tears landing on her cheek, tracing down her skin as though it were hers.

 _I'll see you again, my love._

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! :D I hope you enjoyed! Feel free to let me know what you think, no matter how short the comment!**

 **And, as always, critique is welcome! :D**


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